


The Perfect Evening (That Much Is True)

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Celibacy, Community: kink_bingo, First Time, Las Vegas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ray meets a really good-looking guy at a Las Vegas bar and agrees to go upstairs with him, he knows there are going to be complications, but he doesn't realize how deep those complications go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Evening (That Much Is True)

**Author's Note:**

> For the "virginity/celibacy" square on my kink bingo square. As always, but even more than usual this time, many thanks to Travis for the beta! &lt;3

Las Vegas is full of beautiful people. Between the cocktail waitresses and the nightclubs and the sheer number of people it takes to helm all the shows, not to mention the fact that a lot of people come here for the whole "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" experience, there are a lot of people putting effort into looking good out here.

So it turns out that finding that one particular dark-haired guy--the one and only guy Ray's after, tonight--is harder than Ray expected. It helps that he's got it narrowed down to a few different hotels, but he's still on his seventh bar of the night, having walked away from three or four other good candidates, before he spots the right man.

Broad shoulders, dark hair, classic features--yeah, that's the one. He'd be a standout in almost any crowd back in Chicago, but here he stands out more for what he's not doing. He's not drinking, not smoking, not gambling, and not trying to get laid--though that isn't stopping women from hitting on him. He's polite about it--none of the girls are leaving pissed--but he seems determined to be on his own.

As one of the women who struck out passes Ray's table, she catches him watching, and she leans down, getting close enough he can hear her over the music. "You might as well, honey," she says. "Only thing I can think of is he's gay."

Ray blinks at her, startled, about to say _No, not possible_, but he glances back at the guy and hesitates. It doesn't seem likely, but then he hasn't figured out anything else just sitting here, any other way to approach him. Maybe... hell. Maybe it's worth a shot.

"Thanks," he says, but she's already out the door with her girlfriends, ready to move on. On a normal night, he'd have tried to join them--a girl talking to him out of the blue is better than he usually does--but this isn't a normal night, and that's not just some guy he wants to go to bed with--not that, being strictly honest with himself, going to bed with him sounds bad.

"What the hell," Ray mutters, and he gets to his feet and wanders over toward the end of the bar.

The guy glances over as Ray approaches, but he doesn't look for very long--not long enough to really be checking him out. Not a good sign. Ray figures he's committed to this move now, though, so he slides onto the bar stool beside the guy and then orders a diet Coke with a lime wedge from the bartender. What he doesn't do is make eye contact or conversation; a guy who's been guarding his space this way all night is gonna notice he's got company. Ray doesn't have to force it.

He can still keep an eye on the guy out of the corner of his eye, plus there's the mirror ahead of them. The mirror's kinda dim, and the view is broken up by all the liquor bottles, but he can tell the guy's looking at him, and looking away, and looking back again, like he's trying to figure out Ray's gimmick.

Ray grins down into his diet Coke, and finally the guy caves. "Is it a particularly good artificially-sweetened soft drink?"

"It's better with the lime," Ray says. "I'm Ray."

The other guy sighs softly and offers his hand, like it wouldn't be polite to do otherwise. Yeah, that's kind of what Ray expected. "Ben."

Ray takes Ben's hand and gives it a firm but brief shake. "Good to meet you. How's Lady Luck been treating you?"

Ben grimaces, staring down into his club soda. "I really didn't come here to gamble."

"Other kinds of luck." Ray shrugs. "Something got you down?"

It's a while before Ben says anything. He swirls his club soda around, looks at it a while, then looks over at Ray again. He drains what's left of his drink and signals the bartender; when the bartender slides over, Ben points a thumb at Ray and says, "I'd like one of what he's having, please."

"Sure thing."

A moment later, Ben's got his own diet Coke, lime wedge on the rim. He squeezes the lime into his drink and drops what's left of it into the glass, too, and after one sip, he shakes his head and slides it over to Ray. "Yours if you'd like it."

Ray stares at him a moment. He looks down at Ben's hand, fingers still splayed out next to the glass. No ring on his finger; no tan line, either, not that Ben's got much of a tan. Kind of unexpected, really, but either Ben never got married or he's been out of his marriage long enough for the marks to fade.

"Thanks," Ray says, finishing his drink and taking Ben's version of it, too. He tips it to Ben, who nods, and then takes a sip. "So, hey," he says, setting the glass back on the bar, "am I reading this wrong, or did you just buy me a drink?"

Ben holds Ray's gaze for several seconds and then seems to steel himself, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine. "I think I might have. Did you want me to?"

Well, what the hell; if Lady Luck's not doing much for Ben tonight, she's sure smiling on Ray. So now it's just a matter of whether Ray can actually go through with it--this kind of seduction is way more James Bond than Ray Kowalski, and it's been a long damn time since Ray's given it a shot; does he even remember how to play this game?

He looks Ben over again, head to as far down as he can see with Ben seated at the bar, and Ben holds still like he's passing muster. _Yeah._ Ray can do this.

"I got a room," Ray says. "Not here," he adds quickly, "but it's just the next one down." He jerks a thumb in the general direction of the Riviera; it's not too bad a walk, even on a late November night--the weather might be as cool as it gets here, but it's got nothing on a January in Chicago, and he's willing to bet Ben won't mind it, either.

"I have a room here," Ben says, and this just gets better and better. "But--"

Ray waits a while, but it doesn't seem like Ben's going to finish that sentence. He prompts Ben gently: "But..."

"I don't..." Ben trails off again. "I won't..." He finally glances around the bar, which is apparently too crowded for him to explain it using actual words. "There are complications."

Ray blinks at him and nods slowly. He doesn't. He won't. Complications. Okay--that explains why he's been shaking off interested parties all night, maybe. _Complications like he's got a woman upstairs, maybe. Complications like--no, don't think about it. Don't anticipate. Go with this._ Ray reaches out and puts his hand on Ben's wrist, real light, like he's trying to pet a nervous dog.

"I know you don't know me from Adam," Ray says quietly, "but I'm not gonna ask for anything you can't give me."

Ben gives him another long, calculating look and finally nods. "If you mean that--"

"I mean it."

"Then we'll talk when we get upstairs."

Ben does pay for Ray's drinks, including the accidental second one that led to this whole thing. Once the bill's been signed, he leads Ray out of the bar, through the casino, and into an elevator. They're heading to one of the upper floors, which means a nicer room than Ray's place at the Riv, and when Ben lets them in, Ray tries not to boggle too much at the surroundings. Plush suite, nice view of the city--far enough from the Strip to have a really good end-to-end look at it.

Ben slips his suit jacket off and hangs it up in the closet, which leaves him in a dark blue button-down shirt and a tie that looks a hell of a lot more garish when facing it head-on; fortunately for Ray's eyes, Ben loses the tie, hangs it up along with the jacket, and undoes the first button on his shirt. This is looking good, promising, so Ray ditches his sport jacket, too, but he just hangs his over the back of the desk chair. This leaves Ray in a black t-shirt and jeans, but at least they're his nicest jeans, and his boots might be well-worn, but they're not scuffed. He's underdressed, maybe, but the guy did bring him here, right?

But Ben's not going any further with his clothes, except to roll his sleeves up; instead, he's headed for the wet bar. He puts together a pair of glasses of ice water, and he comes back to the seating area, sits down on the couch, and offers a glass to Ray. Ray takes a drink, just to be polite, and once he's set his glass down on the coffee table, he takes a seat next to Ben.

"So," Ray says.

"So, yes." Ben still has his hands cupped around his glass, and he's looking at the ice cubes instead of looking at Ray. "I hope you'll forgive me for being a bit misleading about this, but there are things I'd rather not talk about in public."

The word _misleading_ makes Ray's eyebrows go up, and he looks back down at Ben's left hand again. Still no wedding ring, still no tan line, but maybe that doesn't even mean anything; maybe Ben's the kind of guy who wouldn't wear one even if he did get married. It doesn't seem like him, but Ray's got to remind himself that he doesn't know this guy very well, that this is the first time they're meeting. Ben could be anybody under that cool exterior and button-down shirt.

"Okay," Ray says softly. "I can understand that. What do you mean, 'misleading'?"

"I mean I don't intend to have sex with you."

Ray's heart leaps clear into his throat. _Fuck. He _knows_ why I'm here. Abort, abort, abort..._ He looks at the door, looks at Ben, wonders if he ought to get out of here while he can, but Ben's still got a glass of water in his hands, and Ray can't fucking read him at all.

He thinks back to their conversation at the bar. Did Ben say anything, did Ray give anything away, did they--no, wait. Wait. "Complications," Ray murmurs, and Ben's eyes snap up, focus in on Ray's. "You said downstairs there were complications." A thought occurs to him--a thought that would've occurred immediately if Ben were someone he'd picked up on Paradise Road, which is maybe a better mindset for this than the one he's been in. _Get your head back in the game, Kowalski._ "Are we talking HIV complications?"

Ben looks a little startled--his eyes are wide when he looks at Ray--but eventually he shakes his head. "No," he says. "No, it isn't that."

"Okay." Ray didn't think so, was asking just to ask something that sounded legit, but from the way Ben looks now--uncertain but kind of needy somehow--Ray's starting to think maybe he doesn't need to get out of here after all. _Okay. Okay. Calm down; maybe you didn't totally fucking blow it._ Ben's not bolting with Ray this close, so Ray edges a little closer, resting his knee gently against Ben's. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I suppose I have to, don't I?" Ben murmurs. He looks down at his water again, and he's quiet for a while--long enough Ray wonders if he actually wanted an answer to that.

And--hell, they've got all night, or they've got until Ben kicks Ray out, anyway, and right now it doesn't look like Ben's going to do that. "Nah," Ray says softly. Ben looks up at him, surprise written all over his face again--Ben's got nothing resembling a poker face, no wonder he doesn't gamble; it just makes Ray wonder all over again how Ben wound up in Las Vegas of all places--and Ray goes on, his knee rubbing ever-so-slightly against Ben's as he talks. "You don't have to talk about your complications. Just so long as you clue me in to what you want out of tonight."

Ben nods and finishes off his water, and Ray tries not to be disappointed when he stands up to get another, tries not to feel like a sleazebag for being disappointed at all. It's like the minute sex was on the table, the minute Ray thought about using a pick-up line to approach Ben, Ray's cock started taking over, and he's gotta quit that if he wants to get anything out of tonight. Sex is now _off_ the table, he reminds himself.

But when Ben comes back with another glass of water, he sits down even closer to Ray, his hip against Ray's, his thigh pressed to Ray's thigh. "I think I would like to talk about it, if you wouldn't mind."

Ray shakes his head. _Jackpot._ "Don't mind at all. I'm a good listener."

"Thank you," Ben murmurs. "As it happens, I'm here--in Las Vegas, that is--at the invitation of a friend of mine."

Alarm bells start going off for Ray all over again. _Friend. What friend? What kind of friend?_ Ray's got to keep his cool--absolutely has to keep his cool, no choice, so instead of thinking about Ben's friend, he goes back to kicking himself in the head for that cheesy line he rolled out to Ben a second ago. _A good listener. You actually said that? What are you, a rookie all over again? For crying out loud..._

"I recently left a situation that was--not healthy for me, and my friend suggested--offered, really..."

Suggested or offered, Ray wonders. It makes a difference. It says a lot about what kind of relationship Ben's got with this friend. And "not healthy"--damn right it wasn't healthy for him; at least he finally got out. If he's out. If Ben's not just hiding half the truth from Ray, not that Ray wouldn't deserve it--but no, no, this is all too much to think about; Ray just settles down and does his best to listen. _Keep going, Ben, keep going._

"...I suppose he knows Las Vegas isn't really my sort of territory, but perhaps that was the point. And--well, I'm afraid I don't have many people in my life I can trust these days."

_He._ Ray catches that and hangs onto it. Ben's friend is a guy--some guy who lives in Vegas and has the kind of money to put Ben up in this suite for an indefinite length of time. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Ben frowns, and Ray can feel the tension in him, how rigid he's gone. "Don't be sorry for me," he says roughly. "I made my own decisions."

"Sometimes you don't get to make your own decisions," Ray snaps back. Ben looks up at him, startled again, but Ray keeps going anyway. "Sometimes you get stuck."

"It wasn't like--" Ben looks away and exhales softly. "Maybe it was," he says quietly. "I don't know."

Ray lets that rest a minute or two, but after a while, he puts his glass down and sits back. He slides his hand onto Ben's knee again, and Ben looks down at Ray's fingers.

"So your friend brought you out to Las Vegas," Ray murmurs. "And now you're here?"

"Now I'm here," Ben says. "My friend's theory is that I ought to be taking greater advantage of the, ah, social opportunities Las Vegas affords."

"And I'm guessing you haven't been."

"No." Ben smiles, still looking at Ray's hand. "I took the opposite approach, I'm afraid." The smile doesn't really change, but something about the rest of Ben's face does; it's like the smile goes all brittle somehow, which makes Ray think something bad's coming; he schools his features into something neutral and waits for the whammy. "I promised myself I wouldn't get involved with anyone for the next year."

Ray stays quiet; if one-night stands didn't count as "involved" to Ben, he wouldn't be shaking off everyone's advances down in the bar. And there's a loophole somewhere, or Ray wouldn't be here. _Wait him out. Wait him out. Just wait._

"Well, the year after my... former partner... and I parted ways," Ben adds, "so I suppose it's more of ten and a half months now."

A month and a half he's been on his own. That's longer than Ray figured, longer than he was hoping; he's definitely alone, then. Ray still holds his tongue a while, but when it doesn't look like Ben's going to go any further with this story, he figures he might as well ask. "So when you say 'involved with anyone', you're saying--"

"I'm saying I've taken an unofficial oath of chastity for the next year." Ben pauses. "Well, I suppose there's no real way to make an official one, unless one's profession dictates as much, and mine doesn't--didn't," he corrects himself, and oh, there's another sore spot; he looks down at his glass again and hesitates before taking another drink.

"Okay," Ray says carefully. "Vow of chastity. But you brought me up here, so...?" Ben doesn't fill in the blank, so Ray tries again. "What are you looking for?" he murmurs.

"I honestly don't know," Ben says quietly. "It seemed very straightforward when I invited you here. I thought I'd see if you'd mind an evening of companionship and touching and kissing without taking it as far as sex, but..." He rubs at his eyebrow, and it's another one of those nervous tics that makes the guy seem human after all. "It seems very selfish, on reflection, asking for that."

"Never selfish _asking_ for something," Ray says. Ben looks up, eyebrows raised. Ray shrugs. "Selfish is assuming you can have something without letting the guy you're with know what you want. Asking for it just puts you both on the same page." _And you are a prize-winning hypocrite, Kowalski, because how much are you telling him about what _you_ want?_

"Understood," Ben says. He takes a deep breath. "Are we on the same page, Ray?"

No. No, they're not, and the lie feels like acid in the back of Ray's throat, but he can't back out of this play now. "We're sure as hell in the same chapter." Ray grins, makes it look real, and Ben grins back at him, and it's like Ben can breathe again, his tension easing. "I'm all for companionship and touching and kissing. You throw in a hockey game and a pizza and it's pretty much the perfect evening." At least that's the truth.

"You like hockey?" Ben smiles. "You're not local."

"Nah. Midwest, little town in Northern Illinois, originally. How about you?"

"Canada."

"Whereabouts?" Ray grins at him. "Somewhere with a hockey team?"

"Not a national league team, no," Ben says. "I grew up in the Northwest Territories." He glances around the room, and his eyes fix on the oversized wardrobe--presumably there's a TV in there. "It's midseason," he says. "There might very well be hockey."

"Could be." Ray isn't looking at the wardrobe, though; he's still looking at Ben. "Is that how you wanna start the night?"

Ben looks right back at Ray, and suddenly it's one of those long looks, one of those sizing-up looks like the kind Ray was giving Ben down in the bar. Unlike Ben, though, Ray doesn't hold still; he leans back against the couch and stretches his arm out along the back of it, stopping short of wrapping that arm around Ben. Ben's eyes come back and meet Ray's, and he whispers, "No."

Ray inhales sharply and licks his lips, and okay, fuck, he isn't getting laid, he isn't even supposed to be up here doing this, but he's committed to this, he can't just leave--and goddammit, he doesn't want to. He wants the touching, the kissing, the hockey.

He also wants to make this good for Ben, and since "touching and kissing" can cover a whole lot of territory to which Ray doesn't have a map, he takes a breath and figures it won't hurt to ask. "Okay," Ray murmurs. "Tell me what's off the table."

Ben rubs his palms against his thighs--Ray's not at all surprised by the nervous motion, now that they're talking about brass tacks and all. "Sex is off the table. Anal intercourse. Oral intercourse. Direct manual stimulation."

It takes Ray a moment to process all of that. "Fucking is out, sucking is out, jerking each other off is out--basically anything that leads to one or the other of us coming, right?"

Ben slips a finger under his collar and tugs gently at it. "That's more or less the boundaries I was thinking of, yes. That said, there are circumstances where--that is to say, even kissing can sometimes--"

_Even kissing?_ Ray wonders what the hell kind of kissing Ben's used to doing. "Wouldn't hold it against you," Ray murmurs.

"Nor I you," Ben says, and it just sounds so formal that Ray has to laugh. Ben smiles, too, and Ray reaches out, hand moving nice and gentle over Ben's shoulders.

Ben's eyes slip shut, and his lips part, and okay, maybe Ben's done all kinds of really exotic kissing, but Ray thinks it's been a while--Ben's not acting like the kind of guy who's used to being touched like this. _Sometimes a friend is just a friend_, Ray reminds himself. He slides his hand onto the back of Ben's neck, slips his fingertips under Ben's collar, and Ben turns his head back and forth--he's not shaking Ray off, Ray realizes, he's just trying to get more contact. Just the touch of Ray's fingers against the back of his neck is enough to have Ben's full attention, and that makes Ray squeeze Ben's neck a little. _Okay. Stop thinking about the job. Just fucking be here with him. Be here with Ben._ It's easier than he thought, once he gives himself permission. _What else are you gonna want to do tonight? What other hotspots do you have above the waist?_

"You sure you don't want to order that pizza first?" Ray asks, teasing, and Ben gets his eyes open to gauge Ray's expression. Ray's trying not to smirk, and he thinks he's doing a fairly good job of it, but then--wait, that's a new expression for Ben; _Ben's_ smirking.

"I think I need to work harder at getting your mind off pizza and hockey," Ben says, and he reaches out with both hands and cups Ray's face with them.

Ray feels like a magnet, all drawn towards Ben like he can't even think of stopping himself, and when Ben moves his thumb over Ray's lower lip, Ray actually moans out loud. Maybe it's been longer for Ray than it has for Ben, because right now Ray can't think about anything but Ben's thumb on his mouth and _oh, God, please, please, yeah..._

Ben closes the distance, and Ray closes his eyes--he can feel how close Ben is now, can feel the heat radiating between them, he can feel Ben's breath against his lips, and instead of just grabbing fistfuls of Ben's shirt and dragging him closer, Ray waits. And waits. And--fuck, he can actually hear it when Ben licks his lips, and Ray licks his, too. Somebody's breathing harder. Maybe both of them.

Ray keeps waiting.

"Will you let me kiss you?"

"Jesus, Ben, yes--" Ray parts his lips, licks them one more time for good measure, but--fuck! Nothing happens. He's just about vibrating in Ben's hands here, and his dick, God, best not to think about how his dick's feeling. "Yeah, c'mon, Ben, please."

"No, I--" _No_ gets Ray's attention, and he opens his eyes again. Ben's eyebrows are drawn together slightly. "I meant--can we take it slowly?"

"You mean can _you_ kiss _me_," Ray says, realization dawning, and he nods against Ben's hands. "Take it as slow as you want, Ben."

"Thank you," Ben whispers, and he puts his lips on Ray's, and Ray sits as still as he can, letting Ben kiss him.

It's the sweetest kiss Ray's had since he was about twelve years old, all soft brush of lips against lips with no urgency behind it, no rush to the finish line--it's like Ben wants them to have a chance to get to know each other moment by moment instead of needing it to be a means to an end. Ray shudders under Ben's touch, breath coming out hot and shaky against Ben's lips, but he doesn't push for more--this is Ben's show, and Ray's not about to fuck it up.

"Oh, that's perfect," Ben murmurs, and Ray's caught between feeling like the king of the world and thinking _Oh, fuck, that's all?_ But apparently just because it's perfect doesn't mean Ben wants to stop; he moves forward again and kisses Ray a second time, still warm and slow and easy with no sense that he's looking for any more than this.

When Ben pulls back just the barest fraction of an inch, Ray reaches up and puts his hands on Ben's forearms. Ben stops instead of kissing Ray again, and Ray leans forward to put his forehead against Ben's.

"Damn," Ray murmurs.

"I was thinking something quite similar, yes," Ben says. He sounds hoarse; Ray grins.

"Can I kiss you back now?" Ray flicks his tongue out over his lips, wondering if he's just imagining it or if he can actually taste Ben on them. "I'll go slow."

"Please," Ben says, and that's all the go-ahead Ray needs. He moves his head and puts his lips on Ben's, and from this side it's different but newly familiar: Ben's lips are warm, and strong, and there's something about the way he kisses that makes Ray want to wrap both arms around him and hold him close--a feeling like maybe Ben just hasn't had a chance to do much of this, like he really does need the closeness more than he needs to get off.

And hell--Ray doesn't know what his kiss is telling Ben, but he's been there. God, has he been there. So he slides one hand up and down Ben's forearm, caressing--letting Ben know he's there, trying to reassure him with that easy, gentle touch that he's not going to push for more unless Ben wants him to.

It seems like it's working; Ben relaxes under Ray's hands and slides one of his from Ray's cheek to the back of his neck. Ray barely has time to adjust to that before Ben's other hand is moving--this one slides over Ray's shoulder and goes down his arm, and when it reaches Ray's wrist and his bracelet, Ben pauses to look down.

"Was it a gift?" Ben asks.

Ray shakes his head. "No. It's just--it's me. It's mine."

"I like it." Ben traces it with his fingertips before stopping abruptly and looking back up at Ray's face. "I'm sorry--I should ask first. Is it all right if I--"

"It's fine," Ray says. It's more than fine; he owes Ben that much. He turns his wrist under Ben's feather-light touch, moving the chain back and forth under Ben's fingers. "Touch it." Touch _me_, he wants to say, but he doesn't--he sits still, going half out of his mind while Ben squeezes the back of his neck gently and traces the bumps of Ray's bracelet.

But then Ben's done exploring. He hooks two fingertips under the bracelet--gently, slowly enough it doesn't take Ray by surprise--and pulls Ray back to him, as if Ray could go anywhere else right now.

"I want to kiss you again," Ben murmurs.

"Ben, God, please--"

And thank God, Ben doesn't make him wait. He puts his lips back on Ray's and kisses him, but this time it's a firm, hot kiss, and when Ben's lips open under Ray's, Ray follows suit, opening his mouth and trying to be good, trying to be still--_don't just take, wait your fucking turn._ If someone's going to go first, it should be Ben--Ray's just going to make that the rule of the day. Ben goes first.

And now it feels like Ben's ready, because Ben draws his tongue forward against Ray's mouth, licking very gently against Ray's lower lip. Ray shudders, hands reaching out for nothing, but Ben notices the movement and somehow manages to scoot closer to Ray on the couch. Ray reaches out again, and this time what he finds is Ben's shirt. He takes in handfuls of the material, pulling Ben as close as he can get him, and Ben just keeps kissing him slow and soft, keeps exploring Ray's lips with the tip of his tongue.

When Ben takes it one step forward and slides his tongue into Ray's mouth, rubs it against Ray's, Ray moans out loud--he's getting so turned on he's starting to sweat. Ben pulls back and pants out, "_Ray_," and Ray takes a sharp, stuttering breath. It shouldn't be that hot, hearing Ben say his name like that; it shouldn't be, but up until now Ray's been thinking of himself as just the lucky son of a bitch who happened to be in the right place at the right time tonight, and when Ben says his name--it doesn't feel like that anymore. It feels like he's here because Ben wanted _him_, and how long has it been since Ray got to feel like that?

His gut twists all over again from the lie, but _no_\--damn it, no, it's not all a lie. He wants Ben, too, and he knows damn well he'd want Ben whether he was on the clock or not. "Anything," he whispers. "Just--anything, Ben, whatever, anything--"

Ben catches both of Ray's hands in his and brings them up to his face, kissing the backs of Ray's knuckles. "I need this to stop for now," Ben murmurs, and oh, God, Ray can feel the deep aching weight between his legs, the way he's going to hurt for a while here if he doesn't get off.

But he swallows hard, and nods, and he eases himself back from Ben, putting a little space between them so his body won't be yelling _touch him, taste him, do something, do anything_ so damn loudly. This is Ben's call, not his; it _should_ be Ben's call.

Ben squeezes Ray's hands, and Ray squeezes back. "Thank you," Ben murmurs.

"Yeah," Ray says, and he doesn't realize how shaky his voice is until he hears that word out loud. He nods a couple of times and tries again. "Yeah--thank you, too."

Ben smiles at him, and Ray smiles back. It's better, maybe, better not to go any further than that. _How hard would it be to go back home and pretend this never happened if we got to second base, third base, all the way?_

"I don't--" Even Ben has to clear his throat now; he's as affected as Ray is, which is a small victory on one level and another reason to feel guilty on another. "I don't suppose we can find hockey on television somewhere."

Ray forces a grin at that; Ben was actually listening to him earlier. "I tell you what," he says. "I'll see about the hockey. You order the pizza."

"I can do that," Ben says. He stands up, and Ray tries not to look at what he's packing between his legs; he's having enough trouble not thinking about what's between his own.

And as it turns out, kissing and hockey isn't a bad way to spend the evening at all.

* * *

Ray takes off at about two in the morning. Ben walks him to the door and draws him close, and as ready as Ray thinks he is for it, kissing Ben goodbye almost physically hurts, it's so good. It's the same warm, solid kiss as he got just before Ben said it was time to stop, and Ray tries to lean into it as much as he can, hoping to remember the taste of Ben in his mouth for the rest of the night.

"Breakfast tomorrow," Ben says once he pulls away. His eyes are still closed; he's still close enough Ray can feel Ben's breath against his lips. "I wonder if--will you still be in town?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me from it."

"I believe wild horses are usually said to drag one away from--"

"I mean I'll be here, Ben," Ray says. He reaches up and runs the backs of his fingers down Ben's cheek; Ben reaches up and catches Ray's hand. "I'll be here." He'll be here, and maybe at breakfast he can come clean. Maybe if he's honest then, they can make something out of all this. It's the best plan Ray's got at this point.

Ben nods and draws Ray's hand away from his face; he kisses the center of Ray's palm. It's another thing that shouldn't get Ray hard all over again, but at this point he's not questioning it.

"You're in the next hotel over, you said. Which one?"

"The Riviera. Room 1390. Kowalski." Ben looks confused for half a second, until Ray adds, "Ray Kowalski. In case you need my name to get through on the phone."

"Benton Fraser," Ben says, and Ray smiles at him.

"I feel like we oughta shake hands again after that."

"I can think of something better."

And it is better--Ben leaning forward to kiss Ray is so much better, and Ray opens up, lets Ben kiss him and lick into his mouth and explore him, and God help him, it _is_ better that he's leaving, because with Ben kissing him like that, he'd have no chance at keeping secrets--he's going to forget his own name if this goes on for too long.

Ben pulls back, and at least Ray's not the only one breathing hard.

"I'll call you in the morning," Ben promises.

"I'll be there."

And then Ray has to leave, and Ben steps back into his room, door closing quietly behind him. Ray sighs and rubs his hand over his face, and he heads all the way back down the hallway to the elevator bank. He shoves his hands into his pockets once he gets there and starts thinking the evening over from the beginning. _Month and a half, he said. On his own for six weeks. So he's been away from her for..._

He doesn't even see the two guys in black suits until they're just about on him. Either they're quick or he's distracted, and it's probably the latter--fuck, maybe this was the wrong way to approach it after all. He glances from one goon to the other, and they squeeze in on him, pressing up tight against either side of Ray's arms like the whole goddamn hallway's not empty except for Ray.

"Hey, guys, what the--"

"Good evening, Mr. Kowalski."

Fuck.

No, wait: if they were in the hallway, if they were nearby, they could have overheard him saying his name to Ben. They could still just be security, they could still be... Ray can't think of a lot of things the goons could be, which scares the hell out of him.

The elevator pings, the doors slide open, and one of the goons shakes his head at the few passengers inside. "Wrong way," he says, and he hits the button for "up" instead of "down", leaving Ray alone with them again.

"Okay, what the hell--"

"Mr. Langoustini would like to see you," says one of the goons, and Ray's heart jumps straight into his throat and stays there--he's pretty sure he's gonna choke, asphyxiate and die right here in the hallway. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

They muscle him into the elevator and bring him up to the penthouse level, and as they step off the elevator and make their way to Mr. Langoustini's penthouse, Ray wonders if it would've made any difference if he'd been carrying his gun, if he should try to make a break for it anyway.

But then they're at the door, and it's too late. A tall, slim guy with balding hair and a thin mustache opens up. He looks exactly like the sort of man you'd expect to be named Langoustini--and who'd have his own thugs and a penthouse suite in a fancy Las Vegas hotel besides.

Ray's heart is still going a mile a minute, adrenaline making him shaky, and it gets worse when Langoustini beckons the three of them in. "Good job, boys, thanks," he says.

Any thoughts Ray had about hesitating are blown out of the water when the goons shove him forward. They're not taking it easy, either; Ray stumbles as he crosses the threshold, and the goons stand guard at the door while Langoustini leads Ray further into the suite. He ends up guiding Ray over to the window, where they can pretend to be looking out at the neon side-by-side and the goons probably won't overhear.

Langoustini shoots Ray a look out of the corner of his eye, and Ray has to force himself to play it cool.

"So," Langoustini says. "Kowalski."

_Fuck._

"Does Ben know you're with Chicago P.D., or does he think you actually went upstairs with him because you wanted to get laid?"

Ray looks back at the door, but there's no way in hell he's getting past those goons. He takes a deep breath. "Man, I don't know what you think you know about me, but--"

"Save it," Langoustini snaps. He turns to face Ray full-on, and Ray feels chills rush down his spine. There is no way in hell this is going to go well for him, and Ray's about ready to bolt anyway and get the kicks to the head started when Langoustini says something that makes Ray stop in his tracks.

"As it happens," he says, "I know exactly where you can find Victoria Metcalf. But the deal is this." He steps up close, into Ray's space, and puts his face so close to Ray's Ray can smell the motherfucker's soap. "You don't tell a fucking soul you met Benton Fraser here tonight, and I don't rip out your eyes and feed them to you."

Ray fights to keep his breathing under control, and he nods. "I don't give a fuck about Fraser," he says, and it isn't true, not now, not anymore, but he isn't going to tell Langoustini that; he doesn't think Langoustini would want to hear it. "I'm here because someone thought he saw Fraser on a plane, and I figured maybe he just missed Metcalf; I came down to see if Fraser knew anything about where she was."

Langoustini's nodding like he believes it, and of course he's gonna believe it; up until Ray went upstairs with Fraser, it was true. Ray goes on: "You tell me where Metcalf is and I'll be out of here before you know it. And nobody's gonna come after Fraser. I promise you that."

"Okay. Then let's talk," Langoustini says, and Ray closes his eyes, wishing he could tell Ben he's sorry, wondering if he'll even have a chance to say goodbye.

_-end-_


End file.
